Alone Again, With Only A Feather to Call My Own
by Senzafine
Summary: When she died, a bitterness raged throughout her head and heart. Left only with broken memories and a story to tell, Hitomi's brother must find the strength needed to bear the burden and give her the peace she did not find on Earth.
1. Confession

Alone Again, with Only a Feather to Call My Own  
  
The first card she drew was the Chariot.   
  
{"The Chariot is a good card for you, Tsu-kun. It fits you perfectly. You see, the Chariot represents the strength that only a mind in full control can have. Jealousy, anger, shame - these things are not enough to cloud the mind; your mind. Tsu-kun, you are very, very strong. Even disgrace and pride means nothing to you.}  
  
  
  
Fragment One: Confession  
  
My name is Tsuyosa Kanazaki. I think if you want the whole full of it, I'm sure you want to know about my parents, and my sister, and all that - like where I'm from, and what I've been doing until this very moment. But none of that really matters right now, because there's only one thing I want to talk about.   
  
I'm Japanese, if you can't surmise from my name. I've never been outside of Japan, except for a summer trip to England. And how different the people were there! They carried themselves in a different air, and even smiled in a different way. I felt, as I walked down the streets of London, as if maybe Japan and her culture was the cause of the story I have to tell.   
  
Yes, I have a story to tell, that Dad called shameful, not even worthy enough to utter to the insects that flew unwanted into our house. It's been biting at my tongue, like a sweet secret I can't tell, but I have to. The buzzing in my ears and the tiny nagging sting on my tongue has amplified during the past months, an amplification that tore at my heart and become the sole reason of my late sleepless nights.   
  
I have to carry my head with pride, like Dad told me every day at the dinner table that now seems so empty and alone. Mom's eyes are watery, as if her very soul was longing for something she could not find. She never cried, no never, because there should be no tears over someone who brought so much disgrace to my family.   
  
But if you have to know, you should know right now. See how I say this, with voice loud and eyes open. No longer shall I whisper her name, or stare at the floor. In my heart, she is still my sister, and an unchanging memory in my mind.   
  
My sister's name is Hitomi Kanazaki.  
  
On the first day of her nineteenth birthday, Hitomi gave me a reading, drawing seven tarot cards from her deck, and forming them into a half circle before me. Her room was lit only with the lamp Oba-chan gave her, all silver and old, and her eyes flashed with warmth - Hitomi's I mean. She told me that she stopped fortune reading, however, today was a special day.   
  
Her voice was strong, never wavering, nor changing in tone or volume. My sister had such a gentle voice. I could listen to it for hours, and when I was younger, I did, every night when she came to tell me bedtime stories.   
  
The next day, Hitomi cut her long, waist length hair, that took her three years to grow. I saw her wearing her old highschool uniform. She was still able to fit it because she hasn't grow one bit since the last day she wore it to school. She laughed away my and Dad's curious looks and kissed Mom lightly on her head. And then, with a wave, Hitomi walked out the door.  
  
I didn't know it then, when I was struggling to complete a history test in school, that Hitomi calmly took the bullet train to our house in Tokyo and sat for hours by the tree that shadowed her old room. And I didn't know that when I walked home that same day, complaining to Keidan and Sie about Sagaski-san's unfair test, that Hitomi wept quiet tears and withdrew from her bag, the obi of Oba-chan's most beautiful kimono.  
  
Hitomi's body was found five hours later.  
  
My sister committed suicide.  
  
You see, it's easy to say that, soft and simple, like for all the world, it was all her fault, not my own. But the truth is, we all led her to her death. Because we didn't know what she needed, or what could save her. Dad used to tell us that nobody is truly strong unless they have something to believe in. But sometimes, I'm not sure if my sister had anything at all.  
  
That's why she was so weak.   
  
This was three years ago. Hitomi would have been 21, and a graduate of Nagasaki University had she lived. She would have been there when Yukari announced her marriage to Amano-sempai had she lived. Hitomi would have made the men blush and women cluck in approving gestures when she came out, dressed in kimono and obi for Yukari's wedding if she had live. If only she lived.   
  
Mom and Dad never speak of her name. They do not place food on Hitomi's grave. The house is so quiet. The students in my class, some whose brothers and sisters have actually been Hitomi's friends in high school, smile at me, with eyes filled with sympathy and compassion. All of Oba-chan's friends pat Mom's hands and mutter like a song, "Oh, how you must be grieving. No parent should bury their child". And Dad drinks away his sorrow.  
  
That's why I can't call her by her first name, or mention her in front of Dad or Mom. I don't want to cause any more sadness, or any pain. Not right now, never now. Her shadow haunts us, but somehow, I still cry at night, alone, thinking about her. This pain may never go away.  
  
There was nothing we could do for her. Nothing at all.  
  
  
  
Yet, until that very last day, I believed I could.  
  
Even after all this, I still love Hitomi.  
  
I guess that's why her story needs to be told. What I didn't know, but what I know now, is that within this story of a king and a faraway land, shadowed by the flying dragons and dancing with the regret of one gentle heart, lies the story of me.   
  
Everyone called her weak. I find her strong, stronger then anyone I know. Even after all this, I still love Hitomi.  
  
  
  
Author's Notes - Oba-chan is how Hitomi addressed her Grandma in the TV series. 


	2. the curse that came in spades

The second card she drew was the Tower  
  
{"Do you know, Tsu-kun, that all the cards, like a family are related? Look at how your strength of mind is tied so tightly to this card. The Tower - you're about to lead a rebellion against something that tears at your mind. I do not know if this is your fight, and no one else. But you're strong, Tsu-kun. You really are."}  
  
Fragment Two: The curse that came in spades  
  
The women in my family have a curse set on them. That's how Dad explained it, one day when the sun was setting, and the golden rays lit the lawn with a faint glimmer. Up perched on the roof, with my shirt cast aside, sweat dripping down my body in tired beads, Dad tended to my blistering hands. It's not every day when the roof needs to mend, and gutters fixed, the chimney cleaned. But it was typical of Dad to do the work all by himself. I guess that's why I said yes so quickly when Dad asked for my help.  
  
And how that moment, sitting on the newly patched roof, could live forever in my mind. The touch of Dad's firm callous fingers seemed as gentle as the summer wind blowing from the sea. Our prefect little house, set in the prefect little street. I loved this moment, if only it could live in all eternity, suspended in perfection, not marred by the sounds of Mom and Hitomi arguing in the kitchen.   
  
Hitomi - I loved the delicate symbols of my sister's name and thought it fitting to tell Dad that. After all, wasn't it Dad who named her? The prefect selection of Hitomi's name, to fit her character was just another success in a long line of accomplishments that Dad achieved in his lifetime. Back then, Dad could not be defeated. Back then, Dad was sheer power and grace, like the sea I smelled and heard, but never saw.  
  
"Dad, I know this sounds weird, but you gave me and Hitomi such good names."  
  
"Really, why would you say that, Tsuyosa?"   
  
His eyes seemed like Hitomi's, clear and penetrating as he looked into my own. His arms, harden by years of work and family responsibilities caught the reflection of the weaning sun and bespoke of a strength I could never mimic. All my life, I was running to catch up with Dad, be the man that I dreamt of being. I never saw Dad cry.   
  
"I'm strong because of you, Dad. It's a good name."  
  
"Names make you who you are, Tsuyosa."  
  
"But Dad, what if I'm not strong?"  
  
"Then you're gonna grow up to be strong, that's all there is to it."  
  
Strength. Clear Eyes.  
  
The strength of clear eyes.  
  
Or rather, clear eyes to see strength.   
  
My and Hitomi's names were everything to Mom and Dad, and to them, one without the other can not exist, or truly see, feel, live and love. What a special feeling it was, knowing that I was loved so fully, and Hitomi too, but a curse in itself. Back then, I was 12, on the verge of manhood, but still longing to be a child again, where everything was simple and Dad never gave me such a pained look, tingled with expectance and hope, and Mom didn't scold me half-seriously to stop playing with Hitomi and I could just sleep, ride my bike around town and not give a second care about such concerns of being a 'true man', as Dad liked to put it.  
  
Because Mom and Dad loved us so much, I felt as growing up to be like Dad should be my number one priority. I remember that thought entered my mind, as quick as that, while I watch Dad pull his shirt over his head and gather together his tools in one quick fluid motion. My hands were blistered and bleeding, the very nerves on the tips of my fingers raising in pain. I doubted that if Dad threw me a hammer I could catch it without crying out. I was weak. Where will my strength come from?  
  
And then my eyes watered up, and why then did Dad have to look up from his work? Even one quick swipe of my hands couldn't hide the tears that fell, and my head just started to scream. I'm never going to become the man Dad wanted me to be.  
  
Sitting on the rooftop that day, with my Dad sitting so close to me, but never turning to look at my upturned face, I felt a sadness creep into my heart. And no, it wasn't a desperate, 'I'll never amount to anything that you are, Dad' kind of sadness. No, the feeling that wrapped itself around my heart bespoke of a true sadness.   
  
"Dad, do you think Hitomi is happy?"  
  
"Why do you ask?"  
  
"I saw her crying last night."  
  
"All women cry, Tsuyosa."  
  
"But this is a different kind of crying."  
  
"How so?"  
  
How so indeed, Dad? I wanted to tell him how I felt when I walked into Hitomi's room last night, only to find her reclined on her bed, like a cat. How my heart thumped with worry as she flung back her arms to the ceiling above her and took a deep breath of air. How the tears that started to well in my eyes at her lonely self disappeared the moment she let out a cry. She was crying, and all my tears were gone.  
  
She was crying for me.   
  
She was crying for you too, Dad, and for Mom.  
  
But how could I explain that to Dad, when he already saw my own tears catching the light of a mockingly prefect sunset? I think even Dad hasn't reached being a true man, because so intent was his hatred for tears and sadness that this because his own weakness. I don't think Dad ever felt that wave of knowing something before it happens, or the beautiful tragedy of walking by a tree and feeling its sadness. I know this feeling. Because Hitomi taught me how to feel. Dad's missing so much.  
  
"Dad, I don't think Hitomi's happy. Something's wrong with her."  
  
I wanted to add 'and me too', but one sign of emotional breakdown was enough for Dad to witness. Maybe that's why he can not feel the love that surrounds him, his true source of strength. Mom and Hitomi, and me too, love Dad with all our hearts. I think in a way, our will to give him power even in the cost of our own strength, was what made him strong. Not muscles, not a job that allowed us two vacations every summer, not even his highschool and college years of playing soccer could have given him the outright valor and strength that made Dad so weak, and so gentle all at the same time.  
  
I guess we really were a family.  
  
"Ah, Tsuyosa, I'll tell you something that you might not know."  
  
A strong hand grasped my shoulder and pulled me closer to Dad. His body was firm, and even his sweat seemed like a coat of armor. If I was as strong as Dad, maybe I could have done something that day that will live on in blasphemy, the day where I found out how weak I was, and accepted my fate with tears and one feeble scream. Dad should have gave me back some of the strength I gave him since the day I was born. Then maybe, I would have done something that day where even the rain bit my skin in anger and in shame.  
  
"The women of this family have a curse set on them. Now, don't look at me like that, Tsuyosa. Don't argue with me until I tell you what I mean."  
  
The look that Dad saw, surely it wasn't a look of disrespect that crossed my face. I wasn't thinking about how wrong Dad was, because I was thinking about how wrong I was, how wrong my mind and heart were. I shouldn't have been that weak. If anything, I should have yelled, and yelled until my voice gave out and nothing, no regrets, nor pain, nor shame was left. That's the wrong I did, there's my sin. There was my curse.  
  
"Tsuyosa, if I told you something, would you listen and not say anything?"  
  
"Of course, Dad."  
  
"The Kanzaki women are cursed, Tsuyosa. They can see things that other people can't normally see."  
  
Dad's saying something I known for years. Ever since my seventh birthday, Hitomi called me to her side and often told me stories of things that happened before they happened. Like when she said Sei was going to become my friend, when back then, he was my 'eternal rival'. Or when she told me that Keidan really didn't hate me, no, he just needed space, like how I will need space one day too, and really, Keidan will give me the space I need, but will I be able to do the same for him? Hitomi knew so many things.   
  
"And yes, sometimes, that's okay, to know something before it happens. But you know, Tsuyosa, they'll be weak then. They'll know the future and will be prepared for it. No real challenges are needed, no hard battles, do you know what I'm saying, Tsuyosa?"  
  
I remember sitting there, one arm cradling my left elbow in quiet thought as Dad went on and on, his hands growing more angry and more sure of himself as he spun more and more theories about the weakness of the Kanzaki women. Because you see, only the women have 'the gift' as Hitomi lovingly referred to it. Only women since the time of Oba-chan's own grandmother. Only women, from generation, to generation to generation. A tradition I would call it, if only it was true. Yes, the women of the Kanzaki family have something that make their eyes more clear, and more focus on the world surrounding them, the true world that lies beyond the physical. Deep into the spiritual they can drive, in and out, weaving strands of the future with that of the present and past. Only women until the day I was born. Only women until the day Hitomi taught me to drowse for hidden objects and I got so good at it, I didn't need to envision anything, not even her swinging pendent to see what laid underneath a blanket or behind a door.   
  
I am no woman. But I am not a man either.  
  
At least not the man that Dad wanted me to be. Or the man that I wanted to be after seeing Dad's true strength. Twelve years I lived and that day on the roof, I knew that even if I lived another twelve years, I would never usher in my manhood with strong, tanned arms [working in the sun makes my head dizzy], a robust love for food [I can barely finish one bowl of rice sometimes] and being particularly good in any sport [kicking a soccer ball feebly across the school's field doesn't count for anything.] I would never be like my dad.   
  
As I climbed down the ladder, following Dad's big, brazen steps somewhat timidly, I thought of something else that made my face grow grim. Mom told me that I ought to stop playing with Hitomi. Never one to lock her door, or tell me to go away, lately, Hitomi held my hand while we walked down the streets, or brought me ice-cream for no apparent reason. She was eighteen then, fresh out of high school, still flopping around in college. Hitomi never felt at home any place but the track field. Dad used to tease her and call her Rab-chan, short for Rabbit.   
  
But that year, that year where Dad brought me up to the roof with him and told him I had to work like a real man and Mom and Hitomi fought long and loud in the kitchen below, that year I remember Hitomi always patiently smiling as if she was hiding a great surprise. At first, and even Mom and Dad thought so too, I thought her surprise was that she quit the track team, but that wasn't it either.  
  
You see, before Dad asked me to help him on the roof, we were having a lazy dinner by the open porch door. All of us, Mom bending over the barbequed chicken as if it was her new baby, Dad propped up on one elbow, me and Hitomi sitting on the porch, our bare legs swinging against the hard, sun warmed wood, all of us there like some storybook family. I felt so good, I ate twice as much as I normally did, and just laughed when Dad asked if I was finally going to act like a boy.   
  
Full of laughter, full of life, I want to remember my family like that forever. And then Hitomi brought her glass of iced tea to the floor with a gentle resolute gesture and looked up at Mom.  
  
"I'm not going to marry Reisuke, Mom."  
  
Reisuke Masujima, the son of one of Nagasaki's biggest retail owners, was the dream and silent prayer Mom held so close to her heart. And this was what Hitomi broke when she placed her plate on the floor, gathered her hands to her lap and stared at Mom with sincere, so serious, it was almost sad eyes.  
  
"Why, Hitomi-chan?"  
  
"I love someone else."  
  
"Then why did you agree to a marriage, Hitomi-chan?"  
  
"Because I didn't know how much I loved him until he was almost taken away from me."  
  
"Hitomi-chan. That was a fairytale. Its time you saw reality."  
  
"I am seeing reality Mom, and it is a fairytale."  
  
At that moment, Dad stood up briskly, rubbing his chest with one satisfied hand. He gestured to me as he bent over his tool box. His eyes spoke everything I needed to hear. I didn't want to hear Mom and Hitomi fighting. My prefect picture would be shattered in two million pieces. Being broken is not something the summer sun called for.  
  
I was almost out the door when I heard Hitomi's quiet answer to Mom's long stream of screams. It seemed so simple, so pure what Hitomi answered.  
  
"I love Van."  
  
If only you knew what I knew, what I can't tell you right now because its not time yet to tell. Then you would understand how heavy my heart was to hear her voice, so strong, saying love.   
  
Hitomi's not weak, not at all.   
  
I am not a woman. I'm still not a man. But at that moment, hearing Hitomi mutter the name of a man I never met before, I believed.  
  
Love mostly, but also in freedom of choice, and not having to listen to anyone. Even my twelve year old self, back then, knew the true esecence of Hitomi's words. She made me believe.  
  
And it was that belief that made me not grow angry or bitter at Dad, six hours later when he caught me lying in bed, cradling my hand to my side to ease the pain of gripping a hammer for so long, and pounding away at title that refused to break. And when he muttered, "How are you going to be a man?" Hitomi's words came flying back at me, her simple voice, her clear, unwavering dedication to a man I never met before.   
  
Dad's missing so much, he can't even see what strength lies beyond that of blood and muscle.  
  
If this is the curse of the Kanzaki family, then I am not a man, nor a woman. Just someone who believes that yes, nothing in this world is predetermined, everything is changing, and so will I one day.  
  
One day, I'll declare my value and power to the world, as strong as Hitomi, who went though something that took away her faith in everything that exist in this world - she killed herself three days after her fight with Mom. She lost faith in even herself. She didn't believe in anything, not me, not Mom, not Dad, nothing in this known world but a man named Van.  
  
I'll give everything to make Dad see this curse that was so strong that her dead body was lit with a smile and her hands wide open, as if she was waiting patiently for Van to drop from the sky and carry her away from everything.   
  
She should have been gone from this place. It holds nothing but bad memories of a soiled embrace, lust gone wrong and large hands pulling at her from a darkness that shouldn't have claimed her.   
  
I'm not saying that she should have killed herself. It gets far more complicated after this, because I don't know how to tell you this without holding a bit of my leg between my thumb and forefinger, making sure that I'm not asleep and that yes, this is reality.  
  
Because you see, four days after Hitomi's death, I met him.  
  
I met Van.  
  
And the story gets even more confusing after this. I don't really mind if you don't believe me from here on out, because in some ways I don't believe myself.  
  
But I met Van. And I didn't know it then, but he made everything okay again. He didn't take away the tears that Mom was crying for Hitomi, or the bottles of sake Dad drank, no, none of that.  
  
Instead, he took away the ache in my heart, and in my bones. He became my brother.  
  
See? I told you - like Hitomi said, I'm not even sure when this stops being a fairy tale, and becomes reality - my and Van's reality.  
  
Author's Notes – No, I wasn't supposed to tell everyone that Van's in this story till Chapter 3, but it just came out. So far, so good right? Sorry for the dismantled way that Tsuyosa presents this story. I was aiming for a fairly traumatic tale being told though a young boy [he's 12 when Hitomi committed suicide, 15 as he's retelling this story] who just started to heal. I hope my style didn't make people feel like, oh great, just another soap opera story. 


	3. Dairy: Entry June 20

July 20, 2000  
  
It happened again.   
  
This time, it was in red. Brilliant strokes of red that lit the dark recesses of my mind in violent displays of possession and hate. I was not asleep, but I was not awake. I was drifting in a sea of red, timed by the motions of my own heart and resisting mind.  
  
In a valley near the ocean, a bright sun shone, and the air smelled like infinity itself; clear, never-ending, and a sweet promise to my tired self. I've been like this, it seems, tired, and restless, just another echo of the waves that crashed without cease against the cliff's jagged side, ever since the day I felt my heart go numb. Ever since the day I said yes, and felt Reisuke's lips pressed against my own, his hand wrapping my own, entwined forever. I saw a rose once, that was entwined with ivy. It sounds so beautiful and so right, but the rose died. Mom said it was because the ivy was crushing it to pieces, but I know the truth. The rose died because it didn't want to live, always a part of something else, never just a single entity, a blessed individual.   
  
I let my guard down, I let my hands grow slack against my own shivering shoulders. I gave up, I let go, I said yes.  
  
I said yes.   
  
Was it knowing that I'll never see him again to led me to say yes - yes, like a puppet, a doll trained to answer the sounds of her master's call. But my master doesn't exist, not here, never here where I can be with him, not for a fleeting moment, or in sweet swooning dreams, but where I can be with him every waking and sleeping infinite moment of my life. Reisuke is here, he always will be, he's a part of my reality.  
  
But I always wanted something more.  
  
My dream, the small dream that I had but never told, continues on with the valley collapsing into the sea. Did I fall too? I'm not sure, I'm never sure about anything. And when I raised my hands to the infinity-like sky, snow feathers covered my falling body and I drifted back to the dull nuances of life that has no meaning.   
  
To say my love for my prince that will never come rescue me [for how can he if he's nothing more but a vision to me, and a glimmer of extraordinary light to everyone else?] was so true that I became this empty cask because of our separation would be telling fairy stories.   
  
Though I loved my prince more then almost anything else in this present world [except maybe Tsuyosa, yes, Tsuyosa would fill the emptiness that Van still has for Folken, the same emptiness that I myself embrace with loving resentful arms,] my love for Van can no longer sustain me. It's not enough, not any more.  
  
My dreams ends with a shower of red, red as blood, as sweet and as calming and as sad as the very blood that runs though my pathetic body, and keeps me alive. I have felt like this for a long time. Life has no more sweetness for me.  
  
I feel Van's arms around me, every night, as I lie awake staring at the ceiling, counting the minutes that pass by, minutes that should remain frozen and as young and lithe as Van's tender body. His voice, no longer screaming in unspoken pain, lulls my raging mind, as he strokes his fingers through my long hair. How he smiled when he saw my long curtain of hair, how his lips burned all the way to my very heart as he kissed the strands that laid in his hands.   
  
When he presses himself against me, no hurry, nor any lust unearths from his bare body, never hurting or rushing me like Reisuke. Van is foremost, and always will be, one with nature, and being bathed in moonlight and night air, makes his eyes shine with light, his movements as smooth as water itself, cascading against my own hands and lips. Reisuke will never understand how utterly I am in love with Van, how utterly I surrendered myself to my prince who is nothing but a glimmer of silver moonlight striking jade to everyone else.   
  
I do not deserve the love that Van devotes to me, the tender feelings and caresses that he bestows upon me, as if I am a queen, and he my king. But never, never will Van be my king, just my prince, for I am not worthy of Van's love. I'm not worthy of Van's eyes, shining with a natural compassion, or his love, as tender as the touch of his wing against my bare back. I can never again have the happiness and the joy I once had. This is my curse because I was foolish enough to destroy my blessing.  
  
If only I didn't say yes to Reisuke.  
  
If I walked home that day, instead of getting into that god damn car. Tsuyosa told me that he didn't mind the rain, he just wanted to get home, but no, I didn't listen to him. Cursed my ignorance, my indifference to what I already knew: Tsuyosa is far more gifted then I, for he has no one who loves him the way Van loves me. Every time we touch, I give Van my glimpse into the future, stories that I learned from no one, secrets that the sky and earth told me. Little by little, kiss by kiss, I gave myself up to Van, and lost the full potential of the gift that is very much entwined with the Kanzaki family. The gift that shines, like a sun, from the very core of Tsuoyosa's existence. I have dimmed to give myself up to Van, completely and truly. It's a small price to pay to feel Van's wings brush against the small of my back, his hands upon my shoulders.   
  
Who will forgive me now? Not Van. I don't want him to forgive me. Tsuyosa, he would never stray from the path that life sets before him. Even with me gone, he will only grow stronger. Yes, Dad truly gave him the right name.  
  
Who will hold my hand when I walk this lonely path? Van held my hand since the day I discovered how I was. And he held my hand when I gave myself to him, physically, casting aside my armor of doomed love and fear. He knew how scared I was, even with the love that I had for him, I was scared to feel his body against mine. The tears I cried against his bare chest, loving him even more, more then humanly possible for the tenderness and love he showed, the moment of breath-taking beauty as he lifted himself from my body and withdrew his wings, glimmering in the fading moonlight. The touch of his hands upon my own, everything, I cried for this love completed me, made me whole. Van held my hand.  
  
But its gone now. No more. I don't deserve his hand to guide me, or Tsuyosa's, whose eyes, oh what beautiful eyes little brother has, can peer into the very depths of my soul. I was blessed until the moment I stepped into that car, I broke that blessing and turned it into a curse when I command Tsuyosa to come too, Mr. Tomoe truly is a good driver, there's nothing to worry about at all, Little Brother.  
  
Nothing to worry about.  
  
The memory of that day burns into me. I have no regrets. But I have one wish. How I wished, with the shards of my empty heart, that Tsuyosa and Van could meet one another. That has always been my wish, to see Van and Tsuyosa playing with each other, talking and confiding in one another in the way that only brothers could.   
  
If I could, I'll make that wish into reality. I have nothing else to wish for, because everything I once had, I'll never hold ever again. Who will forgive me for this show of weakness? Who will have it in their hearts to forgive this pathetic girl, in love with Van, who is and is not real, a possession of Reisuke, knowing and not knowing what comfort is, and crying for a little brother who knows so much more then I will ever know?  
  
No one, because I can't forgive myself. I have no regrets. Just one wish.   
  
If only this wish can be reality, it will be the gift and apology I have for the two people I love more then anything else in this world, then life itself. I love Van. I love Tsuyosa. More then I love myself.  
  
That should be reason enough to not do it. Add on Mom and Dad's sadness because I love them so much, and Reisuke who will understand whatever I say, I have no reason to go through with it. But I'm being selfish.  
  
What happened that rainy day, just mere months after the night where Van pledged himself to me and I to him by my bedside, destroyed whatever happiness I ever will have. My heart is dead. There's no point in living when the heart can't feel. And I can find no more tears to cry.  
  
- Hitomi   
  
Author's Notes - I know, there's tons of questions here. All I can say is, it will be answered. My, how sensual this entry was. It's sad to in its own way. Keep reviewing, and I'll keep writing. 


	4. Dragon Folly

Dragon Folly  
[Origin Unknown, Commonly Sung in the Western Continent]  
  
Who can say where the roads shall meet  
If destined to be entwined we are?  
Painted in shades of the sky at dawn  
Always searching for the color of our skin,  
Our hearts, like stars, burn brightest near hopeless infinity  
  
Who will travel down the roads that shall never  
Meet, fingers reaching towards an impossible sun?  
Embraced by the calling of the water and sky  
Even then, we are lulled to sleep by gentle promises  
Do not awake, my fair sleeping child  
  
Shine upon this dragon in his folly,  
Wandering roads that shall never meet  
Grasping fragments of light, not knowing how  
To turn broken memories to the world  
Where my fair sleeping child lies  
  
Who can say where the roads shall met  
If destined to be entwined we are?  
Our hearts, like stars, burn brightest near hopeless infinity  
Take this tale true, sweet child of mine,  
We shall meet again when this world falls apart  
  
Author's Notes - Basically, its the translation of a song that I created for Van and the people of Fanelia to sing. And no, this isn't some random update, because, just like every part of Escaflowne, this song will have importance in later chapters. Thanks so much for the reviews! 


	5. eulogy of mine

The third card she drew was Judgement  
  
{"What bothers you, Tsuyosa? Something is eating at your heart, your mind. That ming with so much strength, that heart with so much love. Judgement - you want to change, don't you, Tsuyosa? What do you want to change? No, don't look at me like that. You are growing up. You will mature and grow even stronger Don't shake your head. You can't say you wouldn't change, because you will. Just don't change so much that I can't recognize you, and everything I love about you changes as well."}  
  
Fragment Three: Eulogy of Mine [This is Our Story]  
  
I don't know how I'm going to explain how this happened, because that day, though so vibrant in my mind purely for the happiness that followed it, is indeed a hazy day. Summer was over. It's been two months, a week, and five days since Hitomi's suicide. In the air was the scent of autumn, and the fog that rose from the sea burned itself into my window. The first thing I remembered was opening my eyes to see soft light glimmering through my half open windows.   
  
  
  
A gentle light, like none other. Just seeing the slant of it, striking my blue vase and falling in turquoise waves over my lying body, I suddenly felt a loneliness that I have not, even to this, can describe. The house, our lovely one floor, five room house, suddenly seemed to grow in omnipotent malice. The sounds of cooking, of happy chatter, everything died, and became like shadows playing against the buttercup cream walls. I thought back then, that nothing would ease this grief from me, from this house, and from Mom.  
  
The house was indeed empty, because no one else was there. Oba-chan collapsed yesterday, and in a rush, Mom and Dad forgot to leave the house key to Suzuki to watch over me. Suzuki was and still very much is, a gorgeous woman in a curvy type of way, and yea, even back then, I felt a wave of heat rise between my legs every time she leaned forward to brush my stray bangs away from the base of my forehead. Suzuki was a few years older then Hitomi at the time, and lived in the house across the street. She took care of me when Hitomi was busy, and Mom and Dad too. Back then, I thought Suzuki was going to make me a man, the type of man Dad wanted me to be.  
  
I got dressed that morning, to the sounds of a rock song blaring out of my radio's speakers. I guess with the house so empty, I would have time to think, and thinking lately has given me more sadness then peace. If I had my way, I would never be left with a single thought ever again. Thinking gives you pain, I think that's why Oba-chan fainted. She carried the thoughts that Dad was too scared to say.   
  
What a world to live in, where even regrets and guilty is carried with you, wherever you go. I tried walking faster lately, so my footsteps wouldn't drag so pitifully against the floor. My head, it's been so heavy, but I didn't have the strength to try looking up, not now. Everything still hurts when I look up to the sun. The light made my eyes water, yes, the tears that were there, don't confuse them with sadness, or regret. It was all about pain.  
  
That morning, I slipped on my new sneakers, a gift I receive quite some time ago, but never wore. The sky smelled like rain, and how the very air sat upon my shoulders and embraced my face as I opened up the window to stare out into the foggy city. The humid air carried with it the taste of salt, and running the length of my tongue over cracked lips, I held a debate, I'm not ashamed to admit it, whether or not I should go to school today, or just stay at home, sleeping the day away in front of the TV.   
  
Japan nurtures the very best of students, no, not students that actually love to learn, rather, students brainwashed into believing that nothing matters more then school - not the churning waves that crashed upon my skull, not the short wizened breaths I barely managed to cough out, not my health, not my dear dead Hitomi, no nothing matters more then school. That's what I believed back then.  
  
I tore through the house, cursing at my stupidity because really, I shouldn't have wasted even a minute thinking if I'm going to stay at home or not. If I miss the bus, whose fault would it be? Mine, always just mine and no one else. Food didn't matter, even though Mom always told me I should eat something healthy for breakfast each day. Not today though, if I wasted another few minutes to actually cook up some rice, or heat up some water for ramen noodles, I wouldn't make it school on time.   
  
Cap on head, jacket over shoulders, backpack to be loaded with books and zipped up, I worked up a sweat before I even walked out the house. Nothing was going to go right today, I can tell by the hazy sky and the wind that burned itself into my uncovered hands. I loved fall, don't get me wrong.   
  
Every fall, Hitomi would take me to the mountains by train. I remember how she would hold my hand, her fingers wrapped around my own, and her eyes devouring the trees, rivers and distant hills that unfurled before her. The train was almost always empty, and she would let me go only when I asked if I could run, screaming up and down the carpeted aisle.   
  
And how I would scream, just loud happy screams that reflected the joy that bloomed inside me. Hitomi, with her hands folded in her lap, would scream too, and everything that bothered me would disappear, evaporated in the gentle light that flooded the train. Silence was not an option, because this joy was rare, was something shared only by Hitomi and me.  
  
The train would stop at a town, somewhat large in size though not nearly as large as Nagasaki, where the women still wore kimonos and zori, woven with straw and forest grass, and the children danced with paint masks and chant tales as old as Oba-chan. Do you know how sweet the air smelled after a shower of fresh rain that brings about the blooming of tender roses and lilies? The people of the village was bathed in that scent.  
  
The villagers know Hitomi and me. They would offer us food and, whenever we arrived during a rainstorm, their homes, furnished with carvings of wood and flowers from the forest that surrounded them. So sweet and gentle. Hitomi often brought clothes, in white, light blue and sea green - her colors - for both her and me. One time, she brought me a fantastic woven scarf and hat, as light as a feather, but so warm, as if blessed with the sun itself.   
  
The trees above would be brilliant scarlet red, and when we walked among the trees, I felt as if we were walking amidst clouds of harmless flames. Surely the dragon of fire descended from his home in the mountain of the sun to give us this gift of color and power. My hand would seek Hitomi's own, and we'll walk silently, as if in prayer.   
  
Sometimes I held my breath. It was just so beautiful. The chanting of the village children, the sound of the wind, everything moved with such gentle grace, I didn't want to talk. I had no desire to disturb this peace.  
  
These were the memories that no one could take away. I loved fall because each moment I spent with Hitomi became etched into the trees that loomed overhead, the timeless songs the children chanted, the wisps of willowy cloud dancing in the air. Time froze each time Hitomi and I stepped off the train, only to start again, like a waking dreamer, when we headed back to Nagasaki.  
  
I loved fall.  
  
That's why I hurried to run down past our street, turning the corners sharply, hand clutching book bag to chest. The scent of leaf drenched air suffocated me. The hazy fog held no more secrets. The village must surely have moved on, just like time.  
  
Fall moved on too. Just like how winter and spring and summer will. And then it'll start all over again.  
  
I started to pray without ever knowing why. Tears started to well, just like that, inside of me, but my eyes were like hot irons, melting away whatever tears began to fall. Everything at that moment meant nothing, everything was surreal. All I could think about was the unspoken sadness inside of me. A pain I can not name.  
  
// Someone share this pain with me. //  
  
Mom? Dad? No, they'll never understand, though Mom cries almost every night. I haven't just lost my sister, my sibling, but a part of myself. When I smiled, it felt like lies. I want someone to slap my happy face. I had no right to be happy when everything at home was falling apart.  
  
// Someone help me talk again. //  
  
They said I grown so silent, even though it's only been a month. If they knew the story I had inside of me, like a parasite rotting my heart to the very core, they'll be silent too. I broke into a flat out sprint, ignoring someone calling out my name. I must have imagined it. No one would be calling my name.  
  
// Someone help me. //  
  
This elevation of emotions, a flight of sanity ripping off her robes to reveal chaos inside, took over every part of my body. Swaying hips, the hand that wrapped itself around the handle of my book bag as if death would come if it dropped, I could feel a pain ripping through, burning from the inside. My mind and heart, they cried even though my eyes could not.  
  
// Won't you remember her name? //  
  
I had to focus on something before I swooned and fell. Strength, huh, Tsuyosa? This dancing of overwhelming pain and steeped grief almost consumed whatever power I had inside of me. The only thing my mind could think of was Hitomi. My thoughts centered around her. She was the strong one.   
  
// You can hear this, can't you? Help me. //   
  
I spoke her name in a whisper and the raging inside of me died down for just a second, only to roar back in all consuming power a second later. I just wanted to lift myself up from that damned sidewalk and fly into the sky, sinking with infinity. The sides of my stomach began to ache. I said Hitomi's name again and felt a second of relief.   
  
// I want only one thing. //  
  
I formed 'Hitomi' over and over again, as I ran down the steps that lead to the bus station, skidding to a stop before a disgruntled driver with a full bus.   
  
// Won't you stand still to feel the sadness in her, in me? //  
  
I fumbled through my wallet, searching for money, as the driver murmured a few incomprehensible swears, fingers tapping against the wheel.  
  
// She'll fade away into nothing if you don't stay still. //  
  
The driver honked his horn in anger and closed the door. The air fluttered past my cheeks, lifting matted hair off my forehead. And at the very moment the bus pulled away from the curb, my hand emerged from my battered thrice own wallet [it used to be Dad's, who got it from Grandpa] grasping a single yen note in weak defiance.  
  
// You won't stay still. //  
  
Do you know Nagasaki, like all of Japan, is littered with the worst and best of society? You can tell which section you're in by the color of sidewalk. Light grey means that the sidewalk is always worked on, smoothed over and over. Dark grey means that the sidewalk is forgotten.   
  
The sidewalk under my feet was dark grey, filled with cracks. This was the same sidewalk that crawled its way up to our house, a magnificent three story house, yes, but not yet old enough to smell like home.  
  
// Can you hear this? //  
  
Our old home, the one that Hitomi loved, was on the other side of the city, and the sidewalk there was cobblestone, all different shades of rock and mineral. Hitomi and I once drew old runes from a book Oba-chan gave us once long ago on each rock to give our happy home a blessing.  
  
// I want only one thing. //  
  
Mom and Dad moved as quickly and as fast from that house as they could, Mom crying into her hands when she did so. The memories of youth and happiness, they're fading from my mind so fast in the face of this grief.   
  
// Stay still and remember our story. //  
  
It's hard to describe how it happened. The overpass was littered with cans and the single ray of light I followed so intently broke. I tripped and my book bag crashed to the floor, echoing in the silent tunnel.  
  
It was an overpass, wasn't it? Where were the cars? Silence just meet my ears. Lying with my stomach against the rocky ground, I closed my eyes. Is this how Hitomi is now, forever asleep, wrapped in flames? I do not believe that her soul rests in a tiny jar on the family altar. I know she's a spirit, kissing the flames that coated her dead body. I want the same peacefulness.  
  
// One thing and you can leave. //  
  
Consume me whole. I was so foolish to believe that everything will be okay. The neighbors talk about us, about Hitomi behind our backs, whispering lies. Reisuke and his family do not speak with us, though Reisuke has once admitted somewhat bashfully that he would love Hitomi forever. Yukari-san and Amano, so happy in England, why would they ever call us more then once a month? My friends just stare at me sometimes, and our conversations run dry.   
  
Consume me whole, this peace I found under the overpass, against the hard ground. Life is too hard.  
  
// Help me tell our story. Please. //  
  
It happened with an explosion of light, as brilliant as it was cold. Nothing scorched my skin though light flooded over my body and danced in the overpass. My clutched hand pried itself away from the side of my head and laid flat against my mouth. I dare not breathe.   
  
It was the same kind of beauty and grace Hitomi and I found in a mountain dotted with red maple trees. Feet touched stone, and I saw one wing spread itself to touch the other end of the overpass as the other folded itself, like a one sided cloak around the body of a man.  
  
Beautiful eyes stared at me, intensely dark brown, shifting from the brown of a tree trunk to the brown of rich earth with the passing of light. I could not breath.  
  
My prayer.  
  
No, Hitomi's.  
  
He lifted his left hand and something sparkled. A ring. A calm washed over me as the man lowered himself on one knee before me, his wings now furled tightly against his back. His hand brushed away my bangs and gently lifted my hand from my mouth. My mind hurt so much. It was snowing feathers, where did the man's wings go? It happened so slow, as if I was living this second wearing hour's clothing.   
  
The man shifted his weight to both of his knees and he bowed low, touching his forehead to the ground. It was snowing feathers.  
  
The calm took over me and I let myself go.  
  
"I will remember with you." he spoke softly and he bowed again. I dare not breathe. The calm the man brought with him overtook my body and lulled me to a sleep, right then and there, underneath the overpass and lying against the dirty ground.  
  
This is the beginning of our story. 


	6. the Dragon in the Wilderness

Fragment Four: the Dragon in the Wilderness  
  
The boy collapsed while holding a feather of mine clutched in his fist.  
  
The strip of black earth started to rumble. A pungent scent drifted from above, the smell of burning flames tearing against something I could not name. In a tunnel, the shade seemed harsh, the sun that crawled its way from the end glistened menacingly. Air, not blessed with trees or the scent of flowers, weighed itself upon me as I slowly rose from my customary bows. It was "sticky dog air" Merle would say, and I smiled recalling the little girl, who was quickly becoming a lady, back home.  
  
The boy was slight of build, barely any muscle clung to his frame. His hands were long, like a women's, but attached to arms that seemed strong enough to bear a heavy burden. Hair, matted with sweat, clung to his forehead and smooth cheeks. How old would he be? Hitomi said fifteen, the age a boy would be a man, but the boy barely looked old enough to lift a sword.  
  
No rather, he shouldn't hold a sword. He looked much too gentle to do so. Like me before I shouldered the burden of death and nobility on my shoulder. The boy would enjoy strolls in the garden back in Fanelia, where the flowers would bend lovingly under his slender fingers, with Palas by his side.  
  
Yes, Palas would be the boy's campion. They would be about the same age, Palas only two years younger. The boy's kindness would soften the edge of Palas, the wild girl no one understood, the wild girl who stole my heart and bent it into fatherhood years ago. The wild girl Hitomi christened with a tender laugh and a kiss on the forehead.  
  
Hitomi.  
  
Will this sorrow ever pass? Her name, like a knife, tears away at whatever stable calm that floods into my mind, allowing a flame of pain and regret light my head and heart. The ring I wear, she made it, once long ago, telling me that she poured her spirit and her love into the endless circle of silver. She adorned it with runes that she laughingly promised to tell me the meaning of one day.   
  
That day will never come.  
  
The boy knows my sorrow. This boy is my brother. Not by wedlock, Hitomi and I never married before an altar, a priest, never drank the blessed wine from the same glass. But we promised ourselves to each other, and that was better then any ceremony in this or my world. This boy is my brother and he knows the pain that rages war inside of me.  
  
I will show no tears, no sadness. He will know the grief inside of me by looking into my eyes. I don't have to speak. He has heard enough.   
  
The first time Hitomi and I touched, the surge of passion that Allen said came with the first caress, did not come. Instead, I felt a soothing calm wash over me, tender and as soft as her skin. It was beautiful, because it was meant to be. No pressure, no pain, just gentle love murmured into our skin, our embrace.  
  
She cried afterwards, her hot tears sinking itself, like scars, into my chest, her arms wrapped tightly around my body. She didn't want to let go of this moment. I wouldn't let her. She cried for a while, and my heart rose to meet her cries. My love for her never died, not even now.   
  
And she whispered softly, a desire I should have been able to grant, but I couldn't, that I knew even back then. "If only you and Tsu-kun could meet. Do you exist in this world only for me and no one else?"  
  
If I could make my presence by known to the darling brother Hitomi loved I would have gladly traded my wings to do so. Even then, Hitomi could not think of herself, always someone else. This was the Hitomi I cherished, the "phantom lover" I prayed happiness to every night.  
  
"My lord, will we ever meet her? The stories of the girl from the Mystic Moon - are they enough to produce a heir to this kingdom?"  
  
Rinnas, my Minister to the Right, came from a city far to the north, where a person's linage and reputation mattered more then the person himself. Shrewd in politics and gifted in rhetoric, Rinnas became the voice that spoke the rumors murmured by my people every day.   
  
This sorrow knows no bounds. Hitomi and I touch, hold one another against the pounding of separation and imaginary lies. Will it crush us, devour us until nothing is left?   
  
The boy knows this sorrow.   
  
Her desire was granted.  
  
The robe, decorated with entwined dragons, fluttered slightly in the breeze as I removed it from my body and covered the boy's lying figure with it. It did not matter much to me, the robes of the court did not appeal to me as much as the hunting clothes I wore underneath. I forgot my sword, Palas and Merle must have discovered it, lying undisturbed by my throne, and start to wonder where I am.   
  
I do not need a sword here in Hitomi's world. I touched the boy's forehead with my hand, cool to the touch, droplets of sweat hugging my fingers. What story does the boy need to tell? Lend me the strength I need to help him, will this cry reach Folken and Mother in the skies?  
  
Our worlds may be different, Hitomi, but our Heaven is the same. I'll return to you.   
  
Picking up the boy was easy, school bag and all. If I had some money, I would have called a vehicle to drive us back to his house. But the money I carried in my pouch probably would have been laughed at. I'm a beggar in Hitomi's world, a king in my own.  
  
The city before me was a wilderness I could not ever know. Even now, the vehicles that streaked by seemed to hiss and stuttered in hatred. I shifted the boy's weight onto my right shoulder as my arms balanced him in my grasp. I'll carry him home. I am unseen in Hitomi's world, a person visible only in a pillar of light or to the one who called me here. No one in this world would hinder my path. The boy needed to rest, away from this harsh, hot light and humid air.   
  
Tell me where home is, brother.  
  
In my mind I saw a house, three stories high, painted in light blue, with wind chimes christening the door. A fantastic red rooster planted itself by the short flight of stairs leading to the yellow door. This is home.  
  
Lead me home, brother.  
  
My feet started to climb up the stairs by the tunnel. -Overpass- the word sank itself into my mind and I started to walk steadily down the street. The wilderness of this world spoke to me, the boy's breathing growing calm in my arms. The burden he carried, the story he must tell, what strength does he need to speak again, what strength can I give him?  
  
But as I walked, my wings bursted from my shoulders and I ascended into the air. Clutching the boy tightly to my body, I flew in circles over the town, the touch of wind dancing in my hair. The birds can see me, and they let out cries of joy. I did not scare them, rather the tiny brown birds flew in crazy spirals by my side. The sun seemed warmer high up in the sky like this, and the air carried the scent of clouds and sky.  
  
The boy's eyes opened when I broke through a soft mess of willow-like cloud, his brilliant sea grey eyes taking in the sight of flying birds and endless sky all in one hungry gulp. His hands lifted themselves as if to embrace this sight.  
  
He closed his eyes again and whispered softly, "I'm dead, aren't I?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Who are you, then? A dream?"  
  
A dream? Yes, Hitomi said that our love is the dream that no one else will know, a secret that breaks like ice upon the hot sun, never to be told. Stories and rumors, lies and mocking laugh, they're just dust clouding the mirror, trying to destroy the reflection of what is truly real.  
  
This boy will know everything. I feel Hitomi inside of him, and he will have a part of me as well. Blessed brother, darling boy, if only you could meet Palas and make her sorrow that manifest itself to wild disobedience disappear. You could ease the pain that Palas holds because you have once eased the pain that Hitomi had.   
  
What a man you are.  
  
"I am Van." 


	7. A Fairy Tale for All The Years

A Fairy Tale for All The Years  
  
The king, while wandering down the busy marketplace, stumbled upon a merchant selling dog eared books and sweet scented lilies. The king hastened to cover the crest of the imperial home that blazed upon his shirt with his hand, but in a fleeting moment, the king realized he need not to. The old merchant was blind.  
  
"Good day to you, Madam." The king used to be wild, like a river, uncouth and bitter, seemingly cut from a rugged cloth. That changed now, the king's voice was as gentle as the wind that steeped into the old woman's skin.  
  
"How are you, fine sir?"  
  
The king did not reply, for a book caught his eye. Picking up the book bounded in a rose like hue, the king ran his eyes quickly over the page. Ah, the story of Nylfia and Demes, a story the king's brother once told him long ago.  
  
Nylfia, daughter of the Dragon King, fell in love with Demes, the young son of the Lord of the Birds. The dragons and birds were forever at war with one another, over a problem forgotten throughout the ages. The dragons and birds fought because that was the only thing they knew was to fight, and to fight each other.  
  
The king did not very much like the story, for Nylfia and Demes confessed their love for one another, only in the end to kill themselves in a fit of misunderstanding and deception. The fate of the two lovers touched the king and echoed to him a future that might be his own.  
  
However, in the book's version, the story went on to say that from Nylfia's body and Demes' wings rose a human child, grey eyed and small of frame. The child, neither boy nor girl, but beautiful with the moon and sun glistening against smooth skin, could talk the moment feet touched the sun scorched earth.   
  
The Dragon King noticed the child was crying and asked why.  
  
"Do you cry because your mother died?"  
  
"No, you senseless lizard, because the child will never have a father," squawked the Lord of the Birds, ruffling his crown of gold feathers.  
  
"No," the child spoke in words that only sky and sun could hear, "I cry because their love gave birth to me, even after their spirits left this earth. Oh, if I could only love like that, I'll be whole again."  
  
He placed the book back on the merchant's stall. What a beautiful story, thought the king. 


	8. A Story All Should Know

A Story That All Should Know  
  
The girl did not like English Literature very much. Sure she could speak English, but to read stories that were over 200, 300 pages long, her mind began to hurt. Maybe she wasn't as smart as everyone thought she was. The English language seemed harsh against her ears. And to think, back in high school, she loved to sprinkle her Japanese with English words. Whenever she did that, she felt like she was at the very height of cool.   
  
The stories she had to read, they didn't make much sense to her. Her brother was right, she was more Japanese then she wished to admit. A young boy journeying down a river with a man whose outlawed for some reason, a woman and her baby shunned from society, a man who was arrested for not paying taxes during a war - things like these are considered great literature.   
  
But read stories like that, she thought laughingly to herself, in newspapers and everyone will say it's a great scandal, not worth talking about even when putting on your jacket and shoes.  
  
But there was one story she did love. The author must have fell in love once, and lost his love, because she could feel his sorrow and sadness steep from every one of his written words.  
  
Tears streamed down her cheek as she read his words last night, quietly biting back her tears to Poky, her stuffed panda bear. So when Mrs. Tokuyama asked for a volunteer to read, she quietly raised her hand.  
  
Upon her teacher's approving nod, she stood up, cleared her throat and spoke, softly at first, building with strength.  
  
"What's here? A cup closed in my true love's hand?  
  
Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end. -  
  
O churl, drunk all, and left no friendly drop  
  
To help me after! I will kiss thy lips.  
  
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them  
  
To make me die with a restorative.  
  
Thy lips are warm!  
  
Ye, noise. Then I'll be brief, O, happy dagger,  
  
This is thy sheath. There rust and let me die." *  
  
Love that was so strong that life meant nothing unless the other was alive. She didn't understand how anyone could write down such sorrow with such precise words, his pen must have been kissed by the gods. This was a story everyone should know.  
  
As the class began to discuss the validity of the young lady's and her lover's relationship - they were so young, only 14, 15 years old? - she sat quietly by herself, smiling.  
  
Just as love knows no limit, love knows no age. She stared out the window, touching her long hair with gentle fingers, and scanned the hazy horizon for some sign of reassurance. She found it in a bird that flew towards the sun.  
  
To be in love. Even death, if given in love, can be sweet. She folded her hands in her lap and closed her eyes. Yes, this is a story everyone knows.  
  
=====  
  
* From William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, Act 5, Scene 3 


End file.
